DEEPLY TOUCHING: Twin Teenagers ‘Touch’ Each Other And No One Can Stop Their ‘Love’

It all started when Mother caught them – the twins – doing what they were not supposed to do.

It was Uncle Matthew’s wedding day, and both she and Father had been bustling about all morning, preparing for it. Then Mother sat before her dressing table to apply her makeup, and picked up her lipstick. Someone had tampered with it. One side of the lipstick was skewed too far down. That upset her very much. She knew who had done this, she knew it was Eme, because she had told her off the last time she caught the girl fiddling with her makeup. Eme apparently hadn’t listened.

And so, with her bare feet tapping a muted slap-slap beat on the linoleum floor of the hallway, Mother advanced on Eme’s room. The door of her bedroom was on one side of the corridor, opposite Inem’s room. The door was shut. Inem’s door was ajar. Mother’s hand was on Eme’s bedroom door-knob, when a fleeting glance at the other room caused her to freeze.

“Show me your own, let me see,” the thirteen-year-old Inem told his twin sister. He was nude from the waist down, with his knickers and underwear pooled around his ankles. His green T-shirt hung down to his waist, hovering over the flaccid lump of his small penis.

“Okay, wait small.” And without any hesitation or disconcertion, Eme pulled up the folds of her dress, hooked her thumbs over the waistline of her underwear and pulled it down too.

Mother gasped, but the sound came out strangled and silent.

Eme held her dress to her belly and pushed her hips slightly forward. “See? It is different from your own.”

“Can I touch it?”

No. no, please, no… The words raged inside Mother’s head, pushing forward, anxious to exist on the outside, but her lips remained immobile, just like the rest of her, as though she was under a petrification spell.

“Yes, touch,” Eme replied, “as long as I can touch your own too.”

They shuffled towards each other, their arms outstretched. Inem dipped his fingers inside the folds of Eme’s pubic area, and the girl in turn lightly grasped his penis. They stroked each other with expressions of attentive, almost clinical, detachment, as though they were exploring the twists and turns of an assignment from school.

A rictus of disgust descended on Mother’s face. The revulsion she felt juddered through her body, horripilating over her skin and unlocking a madness in her eyes.

“What is this nonsense?!” She finally found her voice. The words came out in a shriek as she bounded forward, slamming the door open and startling the twins around. “What is this abomination the two of you are doing? Ehn? Am I not talking to you?!” Her momentum did not stop until she was in the room, before them. She was shaking with anger. She swung first her right hand, and then her left, each palm striking the cheek of either child with a loud smacking sound.

“Are you mad? Enh? Don’t you know you are brother and sister – what nonsense are the two of you doing? If the devil has possessed you two, I will beat him out of you, you stupid children! Can you imagine!”

As she ranted, a small part of her noted how unflustered the twins looked. They stared at her, not with the cowering mortification one would expect from children nabbed doing something wrong, but with unnerving, blank-faced expressions. Their attitude was calm and unruffled, and their eyes shone like polished stones on identical faces that were mask-like. They didn’t look like children; they looked like adults, adults who were bored with their mother’s madness.

“Am I not talking to you?!” Mother screeched, as she told herself that the wild thumping of her heart was from anger, not dread. “You little devils, don’t you know what you’re doing is an abomination? This is rubbish! Rubbish! How long have you been doing it, eh? Answer me – how long?!” Without waiting for an answer, she slapped them again.

They didn’t flinch. Only Eme moved, she lifted a hand to her reddening cheek. The twin pair of eyes stabbed at Mother with some indeterminable emotion that made her falter in her rage.

“Vivian, what is wrong?” Father’s voice boomed from the hallway. Almost immediately after, his bulky frame filled the doorway of the room. He glanced from Mother’s angry face, to Eme’s flushed cheek, to Inem’s partial nudity. And his face tightened. “What is wrong?” he growled.

“Is it not these two little devils. Do you know what I caught them doing? They were touching themselves in the – in the…” – her hand flailed – “in the – down there! Can you imagine!”

Father was aghast. “Is this true? Inem, Eme, is what your mother saying true?”

The twins said nothing.

“Of course, it’s true,” Mother seethed. “Right in front of me, these two brats were committing an abomination. My God! We need to take them for deliverance, James.”

“Not now. You need to go and finish dressing up. I don’t want us to miss the ceremony of the wedding. As for you two,” he continued after Mother stomped out of the room, “I don’t have time to deal with you now. But before we come back, I want you” – he jabbed a meaty finger at Inem – “to cut the grass, all the grass, on the lawn.”

“But,” the boy said, “that is Baba Joe’s job –”

“I don’t care!” Father snarled. “You will do it! I’m going to tell Baba Joe to go home. You will do it! You will cut the grass, rake the lawn, water the flowers and sweep the compound before we come back, is that clear?”

Inem stared stonily back.

“Is that clear?!” Father advanced a step.

Inem didn’t shrink back, but he answered, “Yes sir.”

“And you,” he turned to Eme, “Agnes won’t be washing any clothes today. You will wash them. Your mother’s clothes, my clothes, the bed sheets, everything in the laundry room. And if they dry before we come back, you’ll iron them. I don’t want a single cloth unwashed and left in the laundry room, have I made myself clear?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good, and you better –”

“Can I help Inem cut the grass?”

“What?”

“Can I help Inem do his own work?”

“Do whatever you like. Just make sure you two are done by the time we come home. And you better pray I come back in a good mood, or else, I will flog the living daylights out of you before handing you over to Pastor Biodun in church tomorrow.

“Now, hanlele, go and start your chores.” Father clamped an ear of each child in his fingers and shepherded them out of the room.

About thirty minutes later, Father and Mother were ready to leave. They were dressed in matching traditional outfits. Cream-coloured lace, with Father’s spitshined, black, leather shoes, and Mother’s towering headscarf the same scarlet colour as the brief material wound around her slender hips. They made such a striking couple, so beautiful, even though they didn’t look happy. There were heavy scowls on their faces, frowns they let linger on their children as they walked to Father’s Mercedes.

The twins stood on the lawn, Inem with a machete, and Eme with a rake. They had already started work.

“Inem, go and open the gate,” Father instructed as he opened the car door. Mother slid inside on the passenger side.

The boy did not move.

Father got inside. The car doors slammed.

“Inem, did you not hear me?” he roared, craning his neck around. “My friend, will you go and open the gate!”

“It is Mohammed’s job,” Inem replied tonelessly.

“Will you – what the – Mohammed – you are –” Father spluttered in rage as he jerked his door open and tumbled out of the car. He lumbered fast to where Inem was standing, and slapped him hard across the face. “Do what I tell you to do, you idiot!” he fumed. “Come on, go and open the gate, foolish boy!”

He stood, waiting, his chest heaving, his nostrils flared, until Inem began to shuffle toward the gate. Then he mumbled something about ‘children of nowadays’, before stalking to his car and getting inside, shutting the door with a slam.

Inem was still moving toward the gate. He was passing by the Mercedes. And then he stopped.

In that instant, he underwent a transformation. The bland expression on his face cracked, and something ugly and dark leaked through. The polished stones that were his eyes now glittered with an unnatural fire, and his lips peeled back over his teeth in a snarl. A guttural sound rumbled in the back of his throat as he swung the machete in his hand. The blade struck the glass window on the back seat with a loud thwack. The glass cracked, and lines zigzagged across the surface from the point of contact. Someone screamed. Still snarling, he swung again, and this time, upon impact, the glass splintered. Someone was still screaming.

“You idiot! What do you think you’re doing?” Father shouted as he struggled back out of the car. He gaped at the shattered window and then turned on his son. “You stupid boy!” Spittle flew from his mouth. “You crazy, stupid boy! Look at what you’ve done to my car!” He lurched forward. “I will kill you! I will kill –”

His rant was cut short when Inem swung the machete again; the blade sank into Father’s right wrist. Inem jerked it back out with a force that unleashed a fine spray of blood. Father screamed and clutched at his wrist with his left hand.

“My hand! My hand! My ha–”

Inem struck him again, this time, the blade hit him flush on the knee. Bones cracked. Father’s scream became strangled, a gurgle of pained sounds, as he dropped to the ground like a marionette with its strings cut. Inem brought the machete down again, this time on his right shoulder. There was a crunching sound as the blade severed Father’s bones. Blood was now pumping out in spurts, spreading all over the cream-coloured lacy wear.

“My husband – James! You devil children – they have killed me oh!” Mother was the one who had been screaming. Fuelled by a thoughtless, frantic need to protect Father, she leaped out of the car, and ran towards the scene, her gait a totter on her high-heeled shoes.

Someone else was also moving towards the scene. Eme. She darted forward, her expression just as maniacal as her brother’s, her hands wielding the rake. She was coming up behind Mother, and just when the woman was inches away from snatching at Inem’s hand, to wrench the machete from him, Eme lashed out. She brought the rake down on Mother’s head. The jagged edges pulled at her headscarf, missed her head and landed on her neck. Mother’s head snapped back and her pupils disappeared behind her eyelids. A rush of air exploded from her lungs and rent the air with an anguished, breathy scream. Eme yanked the rake back out. Blood frothed out. And Mother pitched forward, falling to the ground, her screams dwindling to a sickening gurgle.

Father was still kneeling, bloodied, staring solemnly from Inem’s hateful eyes to Eme’s hateful eyes. He didn’t say a word, couldn’t even scream when Inem lifted his hand and smashed his machete against his rib cage. There was a thump, a crack, and Father flopped backward over Mother’s body. Their bodies jerked spasmodically for a few moments, and then they were still. A mess of skin, lace and blood.

Somewhere in the house, the househelp Agnes was screaming in horror. A dog was barking. And someone was banging on the gate.

And Emem came to stand beside Inem, taking his hand in hers, as they both stared down at the pool of blood inching around and away from the bodies on the ground.

Source: http://mymindsnaps.wordpress.com